You're Gonna See it Someday, It's Affection Always
by everybreatheverymove
Summary: In which Amy's pregnant, and Dan already has a plan mapped out for them. - If she's in this for the long haul, then he will be, too. If she's keeping this baby (his baby), then he's keeping her close by. If she's ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he'll join her. They fucked, and now they're fucked.
1. It could work, you know

He's thought long and hard about this. Well, that's to say he thought of it, considered it for like twenty minutes, and then made up his mind.

He didn't even need to consider it– not really, not hard at least. It all just seemed rather obvious, now that the cards were in place and the inevitable was no longer deniable.

He knocks once, twice, knows she'll answer despite it being so late at night because she's Amy, and she just will.

Dan bounces up in his heels, waits for the wooden door to Room 206 to open and its guest to greet him. He frowns. She's probably wearing that awful fucking granny nigh- "What?"

Nope. She's still wearing that dress that looks like a long blouse. It still stops at her knees, still shows off traces of her bra underneath. Oh.

"What?"

"What?" Amy scowls, eyes drawn tight and lips thin. Her body is hard, tense. Fuck. " _You_ knocked on _my_ door, Dan."

Right. "Can I come in?"

There's no 'please', not even a hint of one coming soon. There are no cherries on top of this, no sprinkles to garnish their massive fuck-up.

"No. And you've got one minute to say whatever bullshit you've been reciting in your head before I scream."

She wouldn't. He's sure of it.

"Well, aren't you a fucking delight?" Maybe sarcasm wasn't really the right idea to start things off, he judges based on the look she gives him. Whatever. "You really want me to let everyone on the floor know of our little sexcapade, Amy?"

"Goodbye, Dan."

The door doesn't shut because he pushes a hand up flat against it, and she removes her own, backing down against her will. She still glares up at him, though. She can still look like she hates him, at least.

"You could've told me you weren't on the pill."

On second thought, maybe blaming her isn't gonna go down too well either.

Fuck him, and fuck his finger-pointing.

"Yeah, well, you could've used a condom."

One hand curled around the doorway to her room, he sighs, slight aggravation showing in his tone (because she's not letting him in, because she's blaming him), "I was told-"

"A low sperm count doesn't mean no mean sperm count at all, you fucking dildo."

Dan smirks at that (because he's an ass, after all), and he leans in closer, "More like a vibrator, angel."

"Oh, fuck you."

"Besides," he shrugs, still towers over her even though she refuses to let him into the room, "You weren't bitching about the lack of condom when you were riding my dick."

"You told me not to worry, and because I was as drunk as a freshman sorority girl lying face down in an back ally, I didn't worry."

He drank more than she did that night, and they both know it.

"It's not my fault you couldn't keep up with me." He'd been six drinks in, and she'd been five. So close. Damn him.

"You were the one who kept buying me drinks."

"And yet I wasn't the only one completely trashed at the end of the night."

"Fuck you."

"Can I come in?"

"No. Go back to your room. Go fuck an unsuspecting twenty year old. I don't care." She wants to close the door, to slam it in his face so hard his fucking nose bleeds, bruises, breaks.

He won't budge though, and he's practically already inside at this point anyway.

He's asking out of common courtesy, which is _almost_ funny considering Dan is one of the rudest people she knows. He's fake, too, though.

It's ironic, because common courtesy was the sole reason she decided to tell him. She didn't tell him because she wanted to, because she needed him or his money or his help. It was the right thing to do – to tell him of his impending fatherhood, if he wanted it – try as she might to fight it.

"I don't want to fight, Amy."

 _It's not good for the-_

"Well, if you'd have used the brain that the Wizard of fucking Oz gave you at birth, then we wouldn't have anything to fight about in the first place."

He kind of wants to tell her that they always find ways of arguing anyway, that there is always just something there as a source of heated conversation between them, a raw nerve left uncovered. He almost wants to remind her of how they once clashed over a flavours of fucking frozen yoghurt. He's not blind. He knows how they operate, how and why and just how _well_ they work together.

But he doesn't – doesn't mention their ever-present, ever-lingering need for eye-drawing disputes – because he knows it'll only make matters worse. And they're already in pretty fucking rough shape as it is.

 _We don't have to fight now, Amy. We need to talk about this._

He'd tell her this if he wasn't such a coward, if he wasn't just two steps away from becoming a full-fledged sociopath, one who craved her attention and cherished her scoldings. It's that five percent part of him needs to feel loved (so people say), he reckons.

He'd tell her this, but only if their deliciously twisted Machiavellian souls weren't _so damn twisted_. He'd tell her this, but he kind of likes it when she hates him.

"Best put on those ruby slippers then, Dorothy. It's gonna be a long fucking road ahead."

Campaign trailing and tightrope walking and hormone-fucking-controlled screaming matches. All this until they become parents. All this until the emerald-tinted goggles wear off and all they're left with is a fucking baby and a fuckload of diapers.

Fuck the wizard, and fuck that analogy.

"Can you leave?" Her lips purse, and he somehow knows that she wants to add a simple 'Please?' on the end of that. But she won't. They don't do manners. They don't do _nice_.

Shoulders raised high and body hunched, her spine is probably fucking screaming out for help. He's never understood how her spine hasn't tensed up so much that it shatters into fucking pieces, but he's always admired it from afar, from too close.

"No."

 _No, because you said you pregnant with my fucking kid, so, I don't know, we should probably talk about it. Maybe? Huh? No? Well, tough shit, Brookheimer._

Dan lifts a brow, in that sharp way he does when he's testing her, messing with her. Except he isn't really messing now, but his face has never quite mastered the art of expressing anything other than boyish overconfidence or sheer disgust, so he just looks like a fucking prick instead. Nothing new there then, Amy thinks.

"Why?"

 _Because we need-_

"I ordered room service and told them to bring it here." He shrugs, nonchalant, ignores the icy blue daggers her eyes bore into him.

Amy lets a moment pass before she speaks again, just watching as he ventures further into her room, not even asking for her approval now. He tosses that stupid beige coat down on the chair beside the dresser, sits down in said chair with one leg crossed over the other at the knee. And he's grinning. Fucking asshole.

"What did you order?"

She didn't dare eat enough at dinner, too distracted by his constant nudging and staring. They hadn't spoken to each other all night; well, of anything other than Selina or _her_ baby that is the White House, that is. They didn't talk about what was really at the back of both of their minds, pushing its way to the forefront as only their evil fucking spawn could.

"Cravings kicking in already?" He's messing now, and they both know it.

"Fuck you." She ignores his look, utterly despises the smug smile – no, smirk – he keeps plastered on his face. She sits on the bed, phone still clutched in her hands. Ring, goddamn it. Fucking _ring_. "It's a surprise," she hears him say, all proud and sounding much like his usual self it's truly disgusting.

Fuck him and his voice. Fuck him and personality. Fuck him and his shitty genes. Fuck, him.

"You know I can just call someone to come and drag you out of here, right?" She's not lying, but he knows she's bluffing. Her hands are sweating, the backs of her knees hot against the bed's blanket. Is it abso-fucking-lutely vital that he keep staring at her like that?

He taps one hand against the armrest of the shitty chair he's sat in, sighs in a way that lets her know he doesn't give a single flying fuck about her threat. "Feel free, Ames."

"You could at least wipe that shitty grin off your face." Amy offers, flicking blonde hair behind the shoulder when it starts to stick against her neck, all warm and sweaty. Maybe she's not pregnant, maybe she's menopausal already and having a hot flash. Her doctor would disagree.

 _Just as I thought. You're pregnant. Congrats, Miss Brookheimer. Would you like to call anyone?_

She'd thought about it, about calling him then and there, about letting him know straight away. Hell, she'd thought about dialing his number and just handing the phone over to her doctor to let him learn the _wonderful_ news from someone else.

 _Hello? Mr Egan? Congratulations are in order. You're going to be a father._

She'd internally debated all options before making her decision. She'd considered every alternative available to her before making up her mind. She's getting older, and time is moving faster, and she's changed (somewhat) as a person.

Fuck.

It's winter for fuck's sake, why is her room so hot? Fucking heating.

"You don't have to be involved. I'm not gonna hunt you down for fucking child support." She's a working woman with a job – undetermined, uncertain, unspecified as of yet. She can be a single mother if she has to be.

And she can picture him working alongside her all day everyday, purposely ignoring her pregnancy, and then intentionally avoiding all mention of the kid she'd surely talk about every once in a while. He'd be good at pretending, she knows.

If she told him to go, he'd walk. Quite happily, she thinks.

"You can get the fuck out."

 _Of your room? Of your life?_

Constantly circling each other's orbit, casually dancing around an endgame. Maybe they had just been in denial of the inevitable.

"I think I'll stay right here, thanks."

His tone contradicts his meaning. He's smug, but he's serious.

 _I'm staying. I'm here. This could work for us. This could for me._

This is a golden opportunity, and not just for him. Maybe it's a blessing disguised as a fucking embryo, all devil horns and shit-eating smiles.

There's a knock on the door before he can get another word out, suggest something she'll either love or loathe. Dan hops up to answer the door, brushing past her legs with the coolest of drafts. She, despite herself, likes it.

"Room service."

The door swings open, revealing a short white guy dressed in a low rent khaki-coloured uniform. He looks as though someone just killed his family pet, and Dan barely acknowledges him. Poor fucker.

He grabs the handle of the cart – the whole thing, not just a tray – and wheels it into the room before letting go of the truck to pull out some already-counted cash from his back pocket to tip him, "Thanks, buddy."

Door slamming shut, he spins back around to come face to face with Amy, only a couple of steps away from him, eyes squinting in distrust. He smiles – that motherfucker – and makes a note of her phone lying on the bed. Finally.

"What kind of game are you playing?"

"Why do you assume I'm playing a game?" He has a new job, his own fucking business for Christ's sake. He is settled… kind of. He's a grown adult who fucks people and fucks with people as a favourite past-time. "Jesus Christ, am I not allowed to order food for the mother of my child?"

She feels something twist into a knot in her stomach at that, and it rises to burn in her throat. Bile. Vomit.

 _Don't ever fucking say that again. Please. Jesus._

"You didn't eat much at dinner."

"You kept staring at me, and I had shit to do."

"And because I was staring I know you weren't eating."

She chooses to ignore the slight hint of concern he's showing. He's a fucking snake with the eyes of a hawk. Of course he's up to something.

She knows him, better than anybody else probably ever has, ever could.

"And now you're gonna eat." He reaches down, picks up a rounded bowl. "Eating for two now, Amy."

She's seriously gonna stab him with a fucking spoon.

The motherfucker ordered what looks like one of everything, and she would thank him if he wasn't just so naturally, perfectly, plainly sketchy.

"It's your fault, by the way." She's not claiming responsibility for their latest fuck-up, "You were the one who said you couldn't get your fucking swimmers to the finish line."

He holds up both hands, blamelessly, "Then I guess you're just an extra special swimming pool."

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later I'll let you."

Can she kill him with a spoon? Can they legalize spoon-killing? Fuck, she'll settle for spooning his eyes if she has to.

Eyes narrowing, Amy finally gives in. Not for his sake, but because she's hungry as fuck and there are like twenty dishes in front of her. Screw him, him and his tall, towering ass.

"Fine." Those cravings aren't going to kick in for some time, she knows, but she's desperately craving something sweet. And that bowl full of caramel – is that fucking _salted_ caramel? – ice cream looks near orgasmic.

Dan smirks, so much wider than before that it almost resembles a true smile, when she snatches the white bowl containing the dessert from his hands and sits back down on the mattress, completely ignoring the flashing notifications on her phone.

They can get to work tomorrow. Selina and her attention-seeking ass can wait. Nothing's going to change because Amy ignored a couple messages. Well…

"Good?"

She'd toss the bowl at him if she wasn't so damn hungry. So instead she just nods and raises a brow, challenging him, "Join me?"

He brushes off her invitation, making his way back over to the uncomfortable chair by the dresser, "You told your mom?"

 _Why, because you wanna fuck her too, and claim vagina-rights to all three Brookheimer women?_

It takes everything she has in her to bite her tongue, to stop herself from saying this. Fuck him, and fuck her sister.

"She does love me." He speaks more to himself than to her, and Amy scowls, lowering the pot down into her lap. It's cold through the material of her dress, and she's grateful.

The metal spoon clangs against the side of the bowl when she lets it slip from fingers, and she's somewhat surprised when Dan leans forward and grabs it from her hands. Why the hell are his hands so warm? He's supposed to radiate frost, not heat.

"My dad fucking hates you."

"Your dad would hate anyone who touched you. Not just me." He's softening the blow to his ego, she notes. Asshole.

"He liked Buddy."

"Yeah, but _you_ didn't."

He's not entirely wrong. Damn him.

"Whatever."

There's another bowl being placed into her lap then, and his hands remain cupped around the porcelain until she reaches for it. He retracts, carefully avoiding her touch.

"Are you trying to make me fat so you can add that to your list of reasons to bail? That's low, Dan. Even for you." Her tone is mocking, and he knows it. So he grins, because he knows her better than anybody.

"If I was gonna bail, I wouldn't be making sure you were looked after." It sounds deeper than he means it to be, he reckons, "Amy, if I was gonna abandon you…," Dan pauses, glances down at her stomach for only the shortest of seconds, "or _it_ … I wouldn't be in here."

Shit. He gulps, almost sighs until she cuts him off.

Eyes closed, she breathes through her nose, does that thing where her neck strains and her body tenses, "You can't abandon someone unless you were ever there for them in the first place."

"Well, I'm fuckin' here, aren't I?"

 _You getting worked up there, Danny?_ Gary would grin like a toddler on a sugar rush and Jonah would come out with some shitty joke that only he would ever find funny. Selina would tell him to sort out his goddamn sour puss and get on with it.

His lips are drawn thin, brown eyes wide, throat tight.

"Why the fuck are you in here?" She wants to shout, but it's late and Leon fucking West is in the room next to hers. Then again, that twice-flushed turd's probably got a glass pressed up against the wall right now anyway, eavesdropping on a conversation she'd rather not be having.

He's a bastard – a heartless one, he knows – but he's not a fucking deadbeat.

Fuck, his dad's a deadbeat and his mom's a saint, but that never stopped him from becoming Satan's whore in male form. But that didn't mean he wanted to follow suit.

(And her family's no picnic either. He doubts she wants to turn out like either one of her parents.)

(And he definitely – oddly, he knows – doesn't want her to end up like her sister, all unfathered kids and fried aspirations.)

(She's not just some random woman that he fucked.)

(She's smart, and his equal.)

(She's fucking _Amy_.)

 _So we jump together. Butch and Sundance._

If she's in this for the long haul then he will be, too. If she's keeping this baby (his baby), then he's keeping her close by. If she's ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he'll join her.

No point in beating a dead horse when it's already done and buried. No point in delaying the inevitable any longer, pushing fate past its due date.

They fucked, and now they're fucked.

 _We jump together._

(She's _Amy_ , for fuck's sake.)

"Because you're gonna fuckin' marry me."


	2. It isn't all about you

In truth, her reaction was exactly what he'd been excepting, what he'd envisioned.

Of course she was gonna be all headstrong and independent. Of course she was gonna turn him down and laugh in his face. She _is_ Amy. She wouldn't be herself if she hadn't.

"Uh, no, I'm fucking not?" She'd raised a brow, face all blank and shit. "Jesus, fuck, Dan!"

"What?" He'd smirked, standing tall and confident. "You could do worse."

"I could do better."

"Not while you're carrying my kid."

"True, but better doesn't have to mean I have to have someone, you dumbass. Maybe I'll be a single parent." Amy had shrugged, shoulders tense, collarbones raised.

"I don't doubt you'd make a great single mom, Amy." Dan offered, complimented, taking one closer when she takes one back, steps towards her as she backs away from him. "I'm just saying, it might be easier if we did this together."

"You wanna raise a kid? You?" She couldn't help but laugh at that, all sharp teeth and true smile.

It's definitely not that he _wants_ to, fuck no. It's more that he feels the desire to because there are certain perks to having a child. Especially given their… situation.

"Dan, you wouldn't even be able to look after a fucking goldfish. You'd forget to feed it, and never clean its bowl-"

With a roll of his eyes, he'd scooped up his jacket and rounded her, heading for the door. "Think about it."

"Marrying you?" Amy had scoffed, nose crinkled, eyes squinting, "I gotta say, you aren't really selling it to me. I don't know how you've already gone through like six fiancées."

"You'd be surprised how devoted I can pretend to be, Ames."

"So you'd be pretending to give a shit about the kid?"

"I didn't say that, did I?" He'd pulled the door open, stepped one foot through but kept a hand wrapped around the frame, just as he has on the way in.

It's not like he doesn't already give a shit about her…

He'd leant over her then, and she'd immediately regretted ever following him to the door. He's warm where she's cold, and it's so strange.

Dan is not supposed to radiate warmth. Dan usually gives off fucking radioactive energy because he's toxic to be around. So what the fuck?

"Marry me, Brookheimer."

Of course he'd smirked. Of course his proposal had been more grossly self-indulgent than charmingly sincere.

"Fuck off, Dan." If he didn't have the face of a mass murderer, if she didn't know him all too well, the tone of his voice would have almost made it – his lame excuse of a fucking _proposal_ – sound honest, sweet, caring. His douchebag face hadn't gotten the memo, though.

He'd left after that, after she'd shot him down blank and damn near shoved him through the doorway.

Okay, fine. He's not at all surprised by her reaction, but that doesn't mean he's accepted it. Or that he's _going_ to accept it any time soon.

He's not creepily persistent, by nature. He's as far from being like Jonah as he could get, he likes to imagine. He doesn't force people into things, doesn't like it when others force people into things. Physical sexual harassment? Fucking disgusting.

But, despite this, he isn't exactly a saint. Far fucking from it. He's used people to his own advantage (countless times now, he gloats), and he's never really apologised for his behaviour.

He knows he's an absolute asshole, and that there's no fixing him. He wouldn't even try to change if the opportunity arose. But he's game for anything, adaptable like a motherfucking political chameleon who's ready to blend in with anything red, white or fucking blue.

And this? Knocking up his attractive coworker, who semi-successfully served as a former president's senior advisor? Whom he has a publicly acknowledged 'romantic' history with?

Knocking up America's reluctant poster-child for pretty little blonde girls who can grow up and create change, or at least prove that change is within us all? Knocking up the snappy, shrill (he's never really agreed with _that_ assessment), petite all-black wearing right-hand woman of Selina Meyer?

Having a baby with Amy Brookheimer while working alongside her every damn day and night, campaigning for a post-presidency President who finally (kind of, _almost_ ) has the nation's full support behind her?

Golden.

Hell, he can probably work the whole moving-to-Nevada-to-shack-up-with-a-governor-come-cowboy thing into this, if he has to. He can _angle_ it so that bland talking tree branch is once again humiliated.

 _Fuckin'_ golden.

So, the next morning, when they'd been leaving the hotel to head back to New York, he'd talked Kent into swapping cars so he could slide in next to Amy, much to Selina's dismay.

"What the fuck, Dan?" She's rubbing in some hand cream, the tube of which Gary is putting away in some seemingly endless pocket deep inside the Leviathan.

"He had to talk with Ben about something, so we-"

There's a hand held up, and Selina is already signing out of this would-be conversation, eyes cast out the window, "Amy, did you get those emails I had Gary forward you?" She's eyeing the blonde beside Dan.

"Yes, yes." She's rummaging through her purse (on a weird angle), hair falling in her face, and then she's yapping on about something Dan only has half a mind to listen in on because there are eight new messages on his phone and there's honestly a lot more interesting.

Amy can't find whatever she's looking for, though.

 _It'd be easier if you uncrossed your legs, for fuck's sake._ Dan just watches her then, all breathless sentences and small hands. It's only half a surprise when he realises that he's _missed_ this – being around her all the time, working together, watching her in her element. It's like getting a good look at a wild animal on the brink of extinction flailing around in its natural habitat. _Amazing_.

She'd told him her talents were being wasted all year, especially since coming back to work with Selina and co, and (truthfully) he's glad she's found a purpose again. Or, rather, that Selina seems to have _found_ a purpose for her again.

He won't lie, of course Selina's hiring of BKD had something to do with the guys – himself included, _obviously_ – suggesting Amy be made campaign manager. She'd been good at it last time (after _his_ breakdown, before _her_ breakdown), and she'd been under-utilised so far in the Meyer post-presidency, by Selina herself and that thumb-twiddling twig of a man she'd temporarily hitched her wagon to. Jesus, he couldn't stand him.

There's a reason they'd almost snatched her up (oh, so close!) to come work with them, and it hadn't even been Dan's idea to bring her in in the first place.

Ben had propositioned them (because she's like a weird surrogate daughter to him, a child he actually would have wanted), Kent had nodded and said something along the lines of 'She's definitely an asset. Her numbers are far superior to any other candidate's we've interviewed so far'.

And Dan had simply agreed (maybe a little bit _too_ eagerly even, despite himself), felt a rather strange gnawing sensation eating at his insides when she'd appeared in the office that day. Sure, he'd smiled like a fucking freshly fucked dick coated in slickness in human form. Sure, he'd been having some frankly fantastic fantasies of her as of late, all hot and horny and _his_.

But maybe it was just because they hadn't been together in so long, hadn't shared more than (just) a couple of drinks in over a fucking year. Maybe he was only grinning like a goddamn teenager that day because he'd missed her, and he quite liked the idea of getting to work with her and her mind again.

She's fucking smart (brilliant, in a way, in _her own_ way). She's actually competent, and good at the job given to her, which is a fucking rarity these days. She is an asset, Kent's not wrong about that; that's why he'd quite liked the idea of having her around a lot more.

Because he wanted to work with her again, mess her up again, rub her the wrong way (or the right way) again.

It definitely wasn't because they'd finally given in and fucked after years of built-up tension, and he was more than willing to do it again.

It definitely wasn't because he'd missed touching her, even just the sharpness of her elbow, even just one hand on her arm.

It definitely wasn't because he missed having her tear him apart and then be the only one he would let build him back up again.

It wasn't because she was the only person he actually _liked_.

She's finally found her phone and she's scrolling through her calendar, ignorant to Dan's peering eyes. _Nosy prick._

She's got some dates marked in blue, while all others are red. And it's only when Dan realises the spacing between all the blue dates that he works it out.

"Amy."

Locking her phone then, she snaps her head up and furrows both brows. "I'm sure Richard could do it, ma'am. I've got a doctor's appointment that day."

 _What can Richard do? What are your plans, Amy?_

"And your appointment is more important than my pre-campaign campaign, yeah?" Selina licks her teeth, shakes her head with disdain. Dan is gonna fucking strangle her scrawny neck one day. "Don't fuck this up, Amy. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt here."

 _Yeah, because your last run at a presidency would've been even half as successful if she hadn't been campaign manager_ , Dan thinks.

Fuck, he'd done the job himself. He knew just how well Amy had done when she was given the job. Better than him, better than fucking Kent. (But that wasn't saying much.)

"I won't, it's just- It's unmovable."

"You know what else in unmovable? This fucking crick in my neck." Selina's writhing, waving a hand over at Gary as though he can miraculously cure it.

When she's too preoccupied with Gary's long fingers rubbing at her neck (okay, nobody needs to see that) to pay them any mind, Dan looks over down at Amy, shifts away from Richard so he's closer to her than the Yogi Bear of a man. ( _When the fuck did he get in here?)_

"Thought about it yet?"

"No, Dan." She grits her teeth, avoids his gaze.

"You haven't given it any thought or you're still giving me a solid 'no'?"

"Both."

He frowns at that, crosses one knee over the other so his leg brushes against hers. He slips his hand down to his knee to scratch it, but then he taps his index finger against the outside of her thigh.

"We don't have a lot of time, Ames."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Before you start to show. Before people notice and words gets out.

"Just a few months."

"What are you, the fucking Riddler? Christ." Amy sighs, encloses her phone in one hand, palm sealed shut, and she folds her legs tighter, moving away from his wandering hand.

Dan glares down at her from out of the corner of his eye, but he keeps facing the back window, right beside Gary's fucking balding head. _(How old is he?)._

Is she seriously going to play this game? Fine. He can play, too.

"I'm just saying, your sister would be better off if she married that guy."

Amy's body tenses then, and she purses her lips. Dan beams beside her, all confident and cocky. Oh, no. Oh, _fuck_ no. She shakes her head, false smile instantly plastered over her face, "My sister can fend for herself. And it's none of your fucking business."

"I'm not saying she can't do it alone, I just think having the dad around would be better for everyone involved-"

 _We are not having that conversation again already, you stupid bastard._

"It's not your decision to make, though."

"No, but I think she should consider all her options." Selina is staring at them now, frowning and curious. _Fuck._

"Oh," Richard pipes up from beside Dan, all smiley and wide-eyed like a slow child yet to be diagnosed with idiocy, "I see what you're doing." He nods, "You guys are talking about Amy being preg-"

Dan nudges him then, a hard jab to his ribcage, and he kicks him in the shin at the same time. Turning to face Richard, his expression shoots off a very clear message.

 _Shut the fuck up or I'll kill you, you dopey Chewbacca looking fuck._

"Amy's sister being pregnant?" Richard corrects, pulls on his tie as his smile lowers, "Sorry, had something caught in my throat just then." He clears his throat as though that'll confirm it.

"Something to tell me, Dan?"

"Hmm?" The man turns his head, "No, ma'am. We were just discussing Amy's sister's situation."

"That fucking trainwreck? No offence, but your sister's a bit of a drip, Ame. I don't know anyone who'd fuck her well enough to get her pregnant. Up the ass, maybe, if that was an option."

"No offence taken, ma'am." Amy smiles, clearly enjoying the unintentional shade thrown at Dan.

 _Take that, you prick._

* * *

When they finally get back to New York, everything moves so fast that they barely have time to talk, much to Amy's relief and Dan's dismay.

She'd been unwilling to even acknowledge his existence on the plane, and he'd been seated too far from her to even bother trying to talk. _Bitch. Of course she'd booked far away seats. Damn it._

He'd made his move when they all got settled in, though.

It was already the next day when he saw her again, dressed all in black, walking around Selina's offices like she owned the place. _Good_. He'd stepped out of the elevator, slid his phone away, and tugged at her arm a little too lightly for anybody to notice.

"Can I talk to you?"

"No, you may not." She shrugs him off, flicking long blonde hair over her shoulder and resting her iPad down on a desk as she talks to one of the interns. She says something about needing to get in touch with the head of some board of directors, about needing a meeting, and Dan only gives half a shit about whatever is or isn't happening.

Then she's springing back around, facing him indirectly because Gary has stopped between them both, "Amy, can you try this coffee?" He's staring down at the mug in his hand like some kind of mentally challenged imbecile.

 _Nothing new there_ , Dan notes, watching the scene unfold with half a frown, half a smile playing on his face. How he _hasn't_ missed this - watching the complete travesty that is Selina's bagman try to go about daily life, try to act like a normal human being. _Fuckin' imbecile._

"It's a new brand we're trying, but it's decaf and I'm not sure Selina's gonna-"

Amy sighs, eyes closing with a groan, "Just give me the fucking coffee, Gary." She practically snatches the cup from his hands, doesn't bother blowing it, doesn't mind the boiling steam escaping past the rim of the mug.

Dan doesn't know if it's the taste that does it, or the sheer fact that she's drinking coffee – he guesses it's the latter – but she's spewing the brew out before Gary can even get another word in, and there's a light brown liquid splashing all over the wooden flooring suddenly.

"Oh my God!" Gary's hurrying for towels, all wide-eyed and gawking. Amy's still holding the mug, but she's wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and clearing her throat as though to rid herself of the taste.

"What the fuck, Amy?" Yeah, sure, play along, Danny. He approaches but keeps some distance, though he grabs the cup and places it on a nearby desk. "You could've at least tried to reach the sink." He nods his head over to the kitchen.

"Fuck you." Seems that's her new favourite greeting these days. "Why are even here?"

"You know what, I don't know. I mean, Jesus Christ, I'm here for two seconds and you're nearly puking fuckin' coffee in my face."

"Yeah, make this all about you."

Gary returns then, kneeling down to dab paper towels over the stain, checking around to make sure the drink hasn't reached any of the nearby rugs. _Imbecile_ , Dan shakes his head.

"Amy, are you okay?" He trails off, gets up to check her over, hands on her shoulders, "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, Gary." She shakes him off, presses a napkin to her lips, "Just don't give that shit to Selina or she'll ruin her carpet."

Aversion to coffee? Check.

* * *

Telling Dan was the easy - well, _easier_ \- part; it's letting Selina know that her campaign manager is knocked up (and _staying_ knocked up) that's going to be a struggle.

But she has to do it. If that incident was anything to go by, she isn't exactly going to be able to hide it for very long. She's an avid coffee drinker by nature, so someone is surely going to notice something wrong very fucking soon.

An Selina will either be delighted for her (and already plotting how to use an unborn baby as a campaign strategy), or the insults will come pouring out and she'll let Amy know just how badly she screwed up this time.

Knowing Selina, it'll probably be the latter.

Or she'll just be surprised that Amy could even get pregnant in the first place, given she thinks the younger woman's flirt game is so weak in the first place. Fuck, she unsuccessfully tried pimping her out to Leon the very same night she slept with Dan.

 _I can be very flirtatious._

Maybe it wasn't a case of her being very good at flirting, or seducing anyone, or even attracting anyone, but more a case of: _Amy, you know Dan. You've done this before. And, hey, you're both miserable. Fuck each other out of convenience. Fuck the misery out of each other._

That's the way she's choosing to see it, at least.

"Ma'am, do you have a second?"

"Sure, Ame." She rounds her desk, sliding manicured hands over the glass top. "Hurry it up, though. We've got that meeting with non-donor donors soon." She damn near winks, flashing her teeth, but her smile drops when she sees Amy's serious face.

"About earlier," she starts, hand holding her phone pressed tightly against her abdomen.

"The coffee thing?" Selina points a finger, "I gotta tell you, it's a good thing Gary's not a barista, because _fuck me_." She nods to herself, "At least he can clean."

She's tapping one hand on the desk, and Amy can tell she's discreetly trying to check the time on her watch."

"Ma'am, I-" She sighs, moves her hand to her chest when she realises where it was, "My sister isn't pregnant."

Selina pulls a face, shrugs one shoulder. She chuckles (in some kind of careless way), and snorts, "Great. Good for her."

"I am."

The older woman's eyes darken then, and she squints, nostrils flaring, "What?" With a breath, she swallows sharply and Amy immediately regrets telling her. _Fuck_.

"I'm pregnant, ma'am." Her brows knit, and she's so tempted to fold her arms so tight around herself. Her job was finally secure, and now she's fucked it up.

"Jesus…" She's calm for a moment, pacing back and forth in front of the desk, heels loud, making Amy want to run for the hills, "Fuck, Amy!"

Taken back by the exclamation, the blonde sighs, moving one hand out to hold up a finger. "It's fine, though. I'm not… going to let this get in the way of my work-" she tries to reason, finds herself cut off.

"Damn fucking right you're not!" Selina shrieks, grits her teeth with a pissed-off look on her face. "For fuck's sake, Ame."

She shakes her head, approaches Amy with wide eyes, the sound of her bracelet clanking against her watch unsettling her campaign manager, "Who's the daddy, huh? It better not be that fucking tall drink of hick piss you were screwing in Nevada."

She wants to correct her pronunciation (again), wants to shudder at the memory of Buddy.

"I'm not having that twangy stick insect tagging along on my campaign trail, Ame."

"It's not Buddy, ma'am."

"Good. Then I don't give a shit whose it is." She shrugs (again), and Amy almost wants to just blurt it out anyway.

"I'm perfectly healthy. My doctor says-"

"Great." Selina's rounded her desk again, picking up her iPad, continuously swiping left on the screen. "As long as you're alive, and able to work, I'm happy for you? Should I be happy? Or should I be sending a car to take you to the nearest abortion clinic?"

"No." Oh, God. "No, I'm keeping it. I want it."

 _Does_ she, really, truly? Probably.

"Well, I don't know _why_ you would. I mean, you've seen how Catherine turned out, right?" She waves a hand over to her bookshelf where the smallest picture of Catherine sits, framed. Her eyes widen even more (if at all possible), "And you're not exactly the best with kids, Ame."

 _Thanks for the reminder._

"I know, ma'am."

As she talks, her face is downcast to her phone and she hasn't noticed the calculating look on her boss' own face. "It's not fucking Leon's, is it?"

"No." Amy almost feels actual puke rise to the surface at the sheer thought of that, of _fucking_ Leon West and having his baby, "Fuck no."

"Good. Having just one of those hairy scrotum sacks on legs is bad enough, we don't need another one trailing after you, too."

He does work for her now, though. He is better at his job than Mike, though Amy has really found herself _missing him_ , as of late. He'd been with her since the start, before Dan wormed his way in, before Ben joined Team Meyer, before Kent hopped on the bandwagon for the statistics of it all. Fuck, he'd been around before Sue.

Amy ponders, fakes a smile. Doesn't she _want_ to know who did the deed, though?

"You can go now."

Fine, then. Taking Selina's direction, Amy spins back around on her heels, eyes closing momentarily as she licks her lips, breath held between tight lungs.

Fuck this. Fuck everything.

"Try to not get knocked up even more, Ame. I don't wanna have to call your parents and tell them their little girl's got herself into trouble."

She can tell Selina's teasing her, and honestly just… _fuck this_.

* * *

"She knows."

"Yeah? You tell her?"

"No, she fucking sensed it via the magic of female intuition."

Fuck him and his fucking incompetence. Maybe she should have told Selina before she told him. Maybe Selina would have had him assassinated in his sleep or some shit.

Dan nods, stabs his fork into his unfinished salad and leans back in his seat, "Does she know it's mine?"

Amy groans at that, lets her head drop into her hands, all rough knuckles and tightly wound shoulders. "Can you not say that out loud, for fuck's sake?" Her hair falls straight, almost falls in her lunch.

Rolling his eyes, Dan takes a sip of his water, toys with the straw as he reaches over and steals a cherry tomato from her dish, brushing her hair to the side. Why the fuck is it so long?

"Gonna have to face it one day." He shrugs, and, looking back up, she's annoyed to find him grinning.

They've got to be back at work – Selina's office, for now – soon, guns blazing, ready to go, all prepped for their strategy meeting with Selina.

Granted, Dan is only there as a consultant but he's _him_ so of course he's going to be having more of an opinion than anybody else in the room. Because he's loud and an asshole and he likes his _genius_ ideas to be heard. (It wasn't genius when he suggested they forego the condom.)

 _Selina 4.0, anybody?_ She can only imagine.

"How the fuck does Richard know, by the way? What, did you have book your next checkup or so something?"

She lifts her gaze then, eyes him with a heavy breath, "I don't fucking know. He's weird with that kind of shit."

"I'm surprised Kent hasn't figured it out yet, being a fuckin' doula and all." Dan lifts a brow pointedly. "He'd probably start polling voters."

"Targeting working single mothers?" She laughs, eyes a slice of carrot in his dish, picks it up with her fork, "The numbers are through the roof." She holds up a hand, rubs two fingers together, "Staggering."

Dan smirks, leans back over to look directly at her, brown eyes clear, "This was unforeseeable. This I did not see."

"Astonishing, really. If my face could show emotion, this would be astonishment." Her face is as blank, expressionless as it could possibly be, and Dan chuckles. "The voters are loving this pregnancy."

"This foetus is working wonders for you, ma'am. Miracles, really." He waves both hands about, watches as she crinkles her nose, "Add this to Tibet, and Montez will be out of office in no time."

"Imagine Ben's face."

"He'll drop that big fat fucking mug."

"Spill his cocaine juice all over Selina's carpet."

"Probably have another heart attack."

"Won't die, though, much to his disappointment." Dan adds, pulling his wallet from his pocket, picks up the bill. "Jesus, he's gonna outlive us all."

"Maybe I should get some of whatever the fuck he's been drinking all these years." She brushes hair behind her ear, looks down with a furrowed brows, "Maybe the little fucker will grow quicker and my body will be free of him."

"Him?"

"I don't know." She looks up at Dan with a frown, "Doesn't matter."

He licks his lips, stands with both hands on his hips, waiting for her to finish the green tea she's taking the smallest possible sips of. "Jesus, Amy."

"Hold the fuck on." She finishes the drink, stands with one hand on the table, pulling her coat off the back of her chair. He doesn't help her, and she's grateful.

 _Be yourself, doucheface. Don't try all that chivalrous shit, it doesn't suit you. Nobody would buy into that._

He does hold the door open for her, but that's not a first. She's always been quite proud of the fact that she's the only person he's done _little things_ for over the years, seemingly without trying or forcing himself to.

When she's left the restaurant a couple of steps before him, he's already catching up to her, right beside her, hand on her elbow. Oh, not _that_.

"I guess that means my balls are in your court now, Brookheimer."

"So you're just a ball-less egomaniacal prick?" She frowns, somehow manages to lift one brow and curl her lip but keep a careless expression, "Lucky me."

"Oh, don't act so disappointed, Ames." He (barely) nudges her side (gently), feels the sharpness of her shoulder dig into him when she pushes back (a little), "You know you love it."

"False." Amy corrects him, "I loved it _once_ , when I was drunk and your mediocre dick was just competent enough to get the job done."

"Okay, first of all, you loved it _twice_ , at least." He smirks, leans closer with a lowered voice, lets her back away because they've stopped and they're waiting for the light to turn green.

"Secondly, I don't think getting you to come twice, _at least_ , is me just 'getting the job done'." He air-quotes the last bit, winks and keeps his face near, draws back when they can finally cross the road.

"I was drunk." She's too busy looking at her phone to give him her full attention.

"So was I. Doesn't mean we have to lie about enjoying it."

"Fine. But me enjoying _that_ doesn't mean I'm gonna enjoy carrying your spawn around for three quarters of a year." She mumbles, "And anything was better than having to dirty-talk Buddy."

Dan only shrugs, ignores that last bit because _fuck that guy_ , "You'll do great."

Selina's office is right around the corner, hence why their pace increases. She's simultaneously enjoying this conversation yet eager to finish it.

Why couldn't someone (anyone?) have joined them for lunch? Oh, right. Because they all ate earlier, while they both otherwise preoccupied. _Those fuckers._

The way up to the offices isn't too long, and Amy's grateful that her office is lower down than the guys' own consultation firm.

Her heels are small, but she can already tell this pregnancy is going to – despite how badly she's going to fight it – take its toll on her, and hiking around town and travelling is gonna be a royal bitch, so at least her own office isn't at the top of a fucking skyscraper.

The elevator is slow, though, and Amy definitely misses Mike now. He's her work buddy, her elevator companion. And that's _weird_.

"We need to tell her."

There he goes, getting serious again. Amy wants to straddle him, strangle him. Either? Or? Both at once? One then the other? Maybe.

She'll straddle him, and strangle him when he's on the brink of release because he's a dick and his dick doesn't take that much work to get going.

"When I'm ready."

"I get that, okay?" He's looking down at her, dickface in full swing, looking like his motherfucking usual self, "But it's also my ki-"

"Don't even fucking finish that sentence." She warns, turning to face him, looking up at his face, "Seriously."

"What, are you gonna fucking cut my dick off? A little late for that, Ames." He boasts, whipping his neck back around as the doors slide open. "Besides, you're gonna need it."

"I'm gonna need _what_? Your thin fucking veiny dick?" She wants to laugh, "Oh, go on, tell me why."

"It's a thing, okay?" Dan huffs, steps out of the elevator, hands in his coat pockets, tilts his head to the side as his voice lowers and she steps into line beside him. "Expectant mothers develop a serious sexual fuckin' appetite. It's not my fault you're gonna be begging for it, on your knees and shit."

"On my knees?" She finds that part a little hard to believe, a little too hopeful on his end. _That's some serious wishful thinking, Danny._

"Yeah." He's half a mind to tell her that she's gonna be _such_ a horny bitch, but he refrains (much to his own ennui), "Much to my contentment."

Amy pulls a face, "Well, technically, that _would_ be your fault, you fucking cancer." She grunts, undoes the first couple buttons of her coat as they near the meeting room, "Wait- did you fucking read up on this?"

His shoulders rise and lower so quickly that she almost misses it, "It's not like I bought a fuckin' book, that shit's all over the internet. D'you know how many forums there are of pregnant women complaining about sore tits and stuff? Fuck!"

"Trust you to only pay attention to anything that involves sex, or anything for your own personal gain."

"It's for your gain, too." He reasons, "I'm not the one who's gonna be knocking on your door in the middle in the night because I need a good fuck."

She rolls her eyes, pushes on the door to the office, slips her coat off and places it over the back of a chair. "You're gonna be so good at this, you know that?"

God, she wants to strangle him. _So_ bad.

"Yeah, well, you're not gonna find anybody else to fuck you now, babe."

"So you'd pity-fuck me?"

He's copying her move, tossing his coat over a seat, and then he's leaning over the table, watching her rearrange some folders. "Don't call it a pity-fuck, Ames. It'd be more of a stress relief kind of thing."

"No, us having sex in the first place was stress relief. My job was in goddamn purgatory and you got fired, and that fucking data breach got brought up again."

He grins, gives her that look she half-dreads, half-adores (unfortunately, _sadly_ ), "You know we'd both enjoy it. Again."

"Dan, please. You would screw anything that had two working legs and a receptive vagina, so that's not as much of a privilege as you're making it sound."

"Consider it an offering then. It's not like there's anything in it for me to gain." He suggests, " _That_ is a privilege."

"You get to have sex."

"Yeah, but there's no, like, job opportunity gonna come out of it because there's nothing you could give me that I don't already have." He (almost) wants to retract that last part, but instead he offers, "Besides, It's good. And you know it's good."

"Woah, might want to watch yourself there, Dan," she feigns fanning herself with one hand, "or you'll get me pregnant again." Her monotone voice teases him, blue eyes ice cold and lips drawing into the smallest of grins, but the gag ends when the office door has swung open and Selina is stood in the doorway.

Glasses pushed up her nose, she licks her lips and clicks her tongue, staring back and forth between them. Of fucking course, Gary is at her heels, halfway through peeling an orange, beaming like an utter lunatic.

"Ma'am-" Dan tries, turning to face her once he's registered the look of sheer surprise on Amy's face and he's _felt_ her presence. His eyes widen, and he holds up both hands, more boy than man, "It's not-"

"You get her knocked up?"

Selina quips, tone condescending, stares him up and down as though she's scanning him with her eyes.

And then she shoots Amy a look, scrunches up her face with a tilt of her head in Dan's direction, brown hair barely moving an inch, "Really? This _shit_?" She throws back.

The blonde's body has frozen and she can only nod, "Yes," she breathes, "Yes."

"Well," Selina is walking between them then, slamming her file down on the varnished table, eyes focused on Amy's forehead.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a campaign baby, folks."

 _Shit._


	3. A simple matter of convenience

Selina's eyes are boring into him.

"There I was, when Catherine told me you were _mostly_ sterile, thinking the world would be free of pint-sized Dan Egan-looking fuckers." She holds up one hand, near pinches two fingers together to make her point.

"With all due respect ma'am, it's really none of your fucking business."

Fire him? She might. The threatening look - she tries, bless her- she shoots him has him thinking she's at least considering it.

 _No respect intended._

"That's where you're wrong," she approaches, bracelets jangling against her watch as she slides a hand over the back of a chair, "because, while you're not my employee, you _fucked_ my employee, and now you've fucked us _all_."

Both hands fly up then, and her head shakes, and Dan is seriously considering walking out of this goddamn office.

He's a grown adult - Amy, too - and they really don't need to be on the receiving end of a lecture (as though they're teenagers, as though they're incapable of recognising their own mistakes). A lecture by someone who has never exactly been Mom of the Year.

If they want to do this, if they're going to do this (or at the very least even _try_ to do it), then Selina's going to have to mind her own damn business-

"When the press gets wind of this because, you know, they _will_ , it's gonna be your mess to clean up, Danny."

"I'm more than aware."

"And, well, we're obviously going to be working this into the campaign, right?"

There it is. That _golden_ fucking opportunity.

"Ma'am?" Amy voices, quieter than her usual, sounding uncertain as though she's ignorant to the machinations of Selina Meyer, as though Dan hadn't already warned her that her batshit boss would do this.

 _Come the fuck on, Amy._

"Don't give me that school girl caught with her panties down look, Ame." Selina warns, finally slides into her seat at the head of the table, taps polished fingernails against her wood, "You're campaign manager. Work it out."

 _With all due respect, ma'am, you're a cunt._

 _No respect intended._

"As an advisor, ma'am, I strongly suggest we find another way of going-"

Amy's staring at him, all wide-eyed and tense and shit, and he almost wants to smile, because she just _knows_.

In truth, he's on board with this whole scheme because he can see its advantages, because he's weighed up the pros and the cons, and the pros won out.

"I strongly suggest you keep your mouth shut and your dick in your pants from here on fucking out, Dan."

"Were we having a meeting or an interrogation? Jesus."

Ben is in the doorway, oversized mug in hand, Kent at his heels. The older men in the room take seats across from each other, beside Amy and Dan alike.

"You call the firing squad yet or are you gonna be doing the honours yourself, ma'am?" Ben is joking, but no one laughs because no one knows whether they should or not, because no one wants to publicly find humour in this situation.

Dan _really_ wants to say something, to add something to that, but he refrains (because Amy is still sending him some seriously fucking demonic shade).

Leaning back, Kent nods once, twice, and then he clears his throat.

"I see."

"What?" Ben scowls, flicks open the lid of his mug.

"It seems as though we've added a new member to the Meyer 4.0 team."

At that, Ben turns to face the rest of the team, all frown and confusion.

"Anybody understand what the human computer is trying to say?"

Dan stills, Amy sighs, Gary grins, and Selina fumes.

"Dan here," she gestures, "is going to be given some new responsibilities starting today." She wags a finger over for Gary, at the man is by her side within seconds, "Gar, can you fetch me some of that lemon tea? And an Advil?"

"Sure thing, ma'am."

He hurries away, practically skips like a little girl who's accomplishing a task for her mommy.

"Amy, are we letting this become public knowledge or are we announcing it?"

"It's a little early for… that."

Dan holds up on finger, slides an elbow over the conference table, "If I may, I suggest we hold off on any announcement until it's closer to the twelfth week-"

"Yeah, she basically just fucking said that, you ripped condom."

"Hold the fuck on!" Ben finally exclaims, stupid mouth gaping wide, seemingly disbelieving. "Are you fucking pregnant?"

She's like a surrogate daughter for him (in a weird way), Dan thinks to himself, watching as the older man's face turns from shock to dread.

 _Congrats, Cafferty. You've got yourself a fucked-up surrogate grandchild._

"Sadly, for everyone." Amy confirms, pushing some blonde hair behind her right ear, "Mostly just for me." She mumbles, and Dan rolls his eyes.

"Jesus, fuck. I'm surprised you haven't been downing whole bottles of toilet cleaner if Dan's the father."

It's _almost_ a joke, but nobody laughs.

 _Shut the ever loving fuck up, Ben._

"You and me, both."

Dan sighs, fed up with the little comments, "Fuck you." They _both_ did this.

"You fuck you."

"You did. That's what got us here."

"What got us here is your overeager dick-"

"I recommend you refrain from conversing like this in front of the growing embryo, or foetus - I don't know how far along you are - from now on."

The grey-haired man is holding up his index finger, on eyebrow raised pointedly, too. "Studies show the repercussions could be extremely negative in the child's later life."

"Oh, fuck off, Kent."

"Yeah, Kent, shut up." Selina buts in, changes the subject as though she was never the instigator in the first place, "We need to talk caucus people, people! We can hold off on these talks for a couple more weeks. Right, Amy?"

Does Selina actually care? Is she actually giving a shit about Amy?

Amy looks up, blue eyes wide, lips pink but dry, "Yes, ma'am." Her shoulders are stiff, her collarbones clearly uncomfortably raised, curved. "Dan can announce it then."

"Plenty of time for that then." Selina shoots the younger man a look, "You, screw your head back on now. You can go back to daydreaming about your mini-me later."

Yeah, because _that_ 's what he was doing.

Because he wasn't already thinking of creative ways to announce this or anything. Definitely not.

* * *

Two weeks have gone by when Amy finally finds him of her own volition, answer in hand and pride in tact.

He's actually surprised she hasn't sought him out sooner, hasn't tried to talk to him about anything other than work or Selina or Leon trying to hit on her.

At one time, they used to talk about anything and everything (just not, you know, _relationship_ shit), when it was all about Selina's campaign, when it was Selina's presidency, when they were still stuck at the crossroads between friends and enemies, and exes and lovers.

"Is there a reason you're in my apartment?"

He tosses his keys down on the table, slides his coat straight from his arms and hangs it up as the question lingers in the air, unanswered.

She's sat in his kitchen, looking a little more at home, at ease then he'd like.

"Is there a reason you were here before I was?"

"Well, you left a key spare under the mat, so that's either an invitation to walk right in and rob you blind, or it's there for one of those many, _many_ little cling-ons to find so they can sneak into your apartment and blow you in the middle of the night."

"Amy," he greets. He's in the kitchen now, watching her dig into a bowl full of pretzels, the empty bag on the counter beside her, the cupboard door hanging open. _When the fuck did he buy those?_

"You almost sound jealous."

"Please, I've known you for like ten years. You think I don't know you invite overeager dipshits over to come and fuck you because they think _they_ 'll be getting something out of it?"

"I think that _you_ think that. And, no, nobody comes _here_." Dan nods, steals a pretzel and holds it between clenched teeth, "Still haven't answered my question, Ames."

"Which one?" She lifts a brow, pulls the bowl closer, watches as he crumbles up the bag and throws it in the trash. "Oh." She smiles, faintly, but it's fake all the same, "I made a decision."

"On how to kill Selina and frame Gary? Yeah, believe me, I've thought of that, too." He jokes, takes a seat opposite from her after pulling a beer from the fridge. She looks serious though, so he squints, "Do tell."

"I'm not marrying you." She tells him, carefully avoiding his gaze, fully aware he's probably glaring down at her. "But I'll let you… in."

"In?" Brows knit, lips curl, "Into you?"

 _Of course._

"Fuck off." Amy frowns, shakes her head softly, blonde hair sweeping past her shoulders. "This was your idea, you know."

He's twirling his beer bottle in one hand, running his thumb over the cool rim of the top, and she isn't sure he's even taken so much as one swig yet, "My proposal was-"

"Your proposal was fucking shit, but the proposal - the idea - in itself was actually quite genius." She rolls her eyes at his grin, at the mention of the word 'genius', "I mean, it could do with some serious work but-"

"But you wanna date me?"

 _Fuck him._

Amy swallows, drops her eyes to his mouth rather than his eyes because it's easier for her to focus, "No." She shrugs, grabs a handful of the snack without looking, "This isn't dating. This is just convenience. You wouldn't know how to date someone if you were given a fucking handbook and tools, Dan."

"I beg to fuckin' differ, alright?" He holds up one hand, finally has a sip of his drink, and then he's staring down at her, "You just never had the full experience."

"Oh, please." Amy laughs, snorts, "The full experience? What, do we go on long walks on the beach, do I get candlelit dinners and picnics in the park? Jesus Christ, your head is so far up your own bleached asshole."

She brushes him off, stands to stretch out her legs. She's been here for about three quarters of an hour now, waiting for him to get back from wherever the fuck he was, from whoever the fuck he'd been doing.

So, she'd made herself somewhat comfortable - much as was humanly possible in his goddamn _man cave_ of an apartment - with some food and her phone on an almost full battery.

"First of all, I fuckin' hate the beach, so that's never happening. You can't even fuck on a beach without sand getting everywhere and I'm honestly just not up for that. Been there, got the rash, all right? Secondly, Ames," his bony shoulders raise, his elbows drop against the countertop, and she hates how fucking endlessly lean he is, "do you actually _want_ me to take you on a date? Because it sure fuckin' sounds like it."

He's smirking, that _fucker_. And she hates him.

"You can have all the entrées you want, I'll drink the booze you're not allowed, _of course_." He's watching as she rounds his kitchen counter, phone sat abandoned, pretzels in her hand, because he can, because she's in _his_ home.

"Is that supposed to sound inviting?"

Dan shrugs, boyishly.

"We can talk about work, you tell me all about what's got you so fuckin' stressed out this time, we come back to my place, we fuck-"

"Are you even capable of dating someone without fucking them on the first date?"

"Took two dates with you last time, if I remember correctly." He teases, "Usually, just one's enough to do the trick."

"You're such a slut."

"Unapologetically. And this slut wants to bring you to-"

"I thought you didn't bring women back here."

"Well, this is different."

"Because you've already fucked me… _over_?" She looks down at her stomach, swallows, feels a small smile dance on her lips (it isn't sweet), "Damn, Dan, and here I was thinking I was special." She feigns a sulk, bats long lashes up at him, lips puckered.

"Well, you said you wouldn't marry me, but you never said no to moving in together."

"Wow, that was quick. Not even screwing me on the semi-regular but we're living together already?" She blinks, pops in another salted pretzel, draws her hand back when he goes to snatch one, "I'm not living here."

"Fine. I'll find us somewhere new."

"Somewhere you haven't fucked half the straight women of New York, you mean."

"Half? Underestimating me, I see." Dan boasts, brows raising up and down twice, shit-eating grin plastered across his face - because of course - and he grabs her wrist, turns it over, "Somewhere I haven't fucked _you_ yet, sure."

"You're not gonna be fucking me, either." Amy declares, eyes wide and certain.

"We'll see." He pries open her palm, looking down to watch as white knuckles turn pink, and then he steals a pretzel, "You'll change your mind soon enough."

"You're so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you?" She licks her lips, sucks at the bottom one, stares up at him, "And why am I gonna change my mind? Because you're just _oh, so_ irresistible?" She snorts, pulls that face where he knows she's half fucking with him, half buying into it herself.

Dan sighs, moving to grab ahold of his beer, and he swings it around in her face, watches as she shifts back slightly with a scowl, "Isn't it obvious?"

He stands to copy her then, only he's taller, but Amy refuses to pull her shoulders in, refuses to back down and resign.

"You think you can live with me and not wanna fuck? You think you can live with any guy who knocks you up and not wanna fuck? It's biology, sweetheart."

"Here I was thinking it was chemistry." She purses her lips, "It wasn't any guy that knocked me up though, was it? That was just you and your retarded sperm." Amy reasons, "Maybe I _would_ fuck any other guy but you're not him."

"Would you fuck Buddy?" He's staring, intently. It makes her uncomfortable as all hell, and he loves it. "Assuming he could even get you off in the first place," Dan trails off, eyes darting up to the ceiling as though he's pondering something.

"Did you just, like, lie back and think of C-Span or what?"

Her face is flushed, redder than it had been a moment ago. He's hit a nerve. Great. Good.

"Jesus, what was it with that guy, Amy? He have like a cock made of broken glass or what? Or was it some new necrophilia roleplay thing where you're the corpse and rigor mortis has already set in?"

"He was _nice_."

"Nice?"

"Yes, nice. I don't know if you're ever cracked open a dictionary, but generally it means that someone isn't a complete fucking twat."

"You don't like _nice_."

"Yeah, well, I thought I _might_."

"That why you came back to me?"

"I didn't come back to you." She walks around him, heads toward the short hallway but stops mid-way and spins on her short heels, finds him directly behind her.

 _How the fuck is he so stealthy?_

"You came to me." He shrugs, tells her, approaches but does not touch her.

She doesn't like people touching her, even in the slightest, lightest of ways. And he's not a complete asshat. He can still invade her space, though. He can still get too close. "You came _for_ me."

"You're gonna keep bringing that up, aren't you?"

"Well, I mean, it's not like I need to." He gestures down, and Amy really fucking wants to slap him across the face. "I just kinda like the reminder that I clearly have more of an effect on you than any other guy you dated."

 _We barely ever dated, asshole._

"Dan, the only effect you have on me is that I want to down a bottle of bleach every time you open your fucking mouth."

He pauses, seems to gulp, and she doesn't know why. But then she gets it.

"I'm not going to… obviously." She raises her left brow, "God forbid I rip the cord that ties you to me forever."

"You wouldn't want to be rid of me."

"I'd _like_ to be. I just know it won't happen. _You_ wouldn't know what to do if I did."

Something seems to click then, and she's suddenly looking up at him with wide eyes and the faintest traces of a smile etching on her face,

"Holy- Is that why you're doing _this_? Christ, Dan, I know you're fucked in the head, but is that _why_ you want me to have this kid? You're so fucking possessive."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is that I'm not, and this… child," she gulps, "is not something for you to have. It's creepy."

"Possessiveness isn't creepiness, honey. Think of it as flattery."

"Until flattery turns into obsession, and obsession makes people violent." Amy folds her arms over her chest. "And you're already a borderline sociopath."

Her blues eyes darken and she grins up at him, watches amusement turn to annoyance, "Fuck, do you want me to pack up my job so we can move to a trailer park and you can keep me cooped up forever? You'll look mighty sexy in a string vest, I've gotta say."

She crinkles her nose, takes one closer to him, bridges the gap, "A bit lanky, but I'm sure by the time I pop out the seventh kid you'll have put on some daddy weight."

"That would require you to do some actual fuckin' cooking, Amy?" He tells her, brow raised sharply, his face the picture of _smug_.

"Would you hit me if I didn't have dinner ready by seven? Or would you just buy the kids a McDonalds and hope that does the trick?"

"Oh, so, I'm working? I'm not a complete deadbeat?"

"Part-time, CVS." She holds her breath, and he kind of wants to pull her hair, "Meanwhile, I stay home and fuck the guy that lives in the renovated shabby chic trailer next door."

"Do I know you're fucking him?"

"I tell you one day to piss you off, and you throw me up against the wall and grab me by the neck."

"And I fuck you?"

"No." Amy shrugs, lowers her gaze, "You eat me out but don't let me finish because you're a possessive asshole and you think I'm gonna keep begging for more."

Dan smirks, settles his beer down on the side, "Sounds about right. But, you know, if we lived in the suburbs we wouldn't have that problem."

"You're right. I could just fuck the mailman every other day and you'd never have to find out."

"I somehow don't see you faring too well out there with the Stepford Wives of New Jersey, Ames."

"I could eat those bitches alive and you know it."

He does, "You're not gonna pull a Gone Girl on my ass? You're already halfway to batshit."

"And you have the face of someone capable of killing their spouse."

"I don't kill you, though. I just wait for your crazy ass to come home and screw me over again, like the cunt you know you are."

"Wouldn't that make me the cunt you married?"

"Only if you married me."

"Only if you ask me nicely, like a good little boy."

"Fuck you."

"You would like to."

She's turned this whole thing around, flipped the fucking table on him, and now she's stood on top of it, tapping her heels like some spoiled little brat.

 _That bitch._

Fine. He'll _jump_. He'll bite. He'll _play_.

"Yeah. I want to fuck you."

"Order me dinner first."

"Fine. What do you want?"

"Thai."

"The place on the corner's shut. You'll have to settle for Chinese."

"Fine." She frowns, spins around on her heels, heads for his bathroom, "I'm going for a shower. There better not be any dirty underwear in there."

"Only yours, Ames."

Amy flips him off then, one hand behind her back, the other messing with the zipper of her skirt, "Fuck yo-"

"Yeah, you're gonna."

* * *

"What, you didn't bring a change of clothes?"

She's in the doorway to his living room, a pair of flannel shorts on her hips (which he's fine with), and an old white t-shirt with some French crap written on the front covering her chest (he minds this).

"I'm sorry, no. I didn't pack a fucking overnight bag."

"You could've at least asked."

Amy smirks, slips one leg over the edge of his sofa to sit her ass down on the arm, "Do you have some weird thing about people wearing your clothes or what?"

He's petty, and metrosexual, and polished, and dramatic as fuck.

"No."

"Then stop staring at me like that." She nods once to catch his attention, moves her arms back to pull her hair up in a ponytail. "Did you order?"

"Yeah, it'll be here any minute."

Dan's still staring at her, unmoving, blank expression. If only his face could properly convey emotion, he'd be a little easier to read. He looks… unsettled?

"Are you having a stroke?" There's glee in her voice, and Dan truly despises her.

"Shut the fuck up." He's running a hand over his face then, and he clears his throat, "Can you sit on the cushion, please?"

Amy holds up her hands, slipping down from the arm of the sofa onto the seat, curling her legs up beneath her.

The pre-campaign campaign has been going well, so far, and she hasn't given anybody any reason to suspect anything. Dan figures this is why she seems relatively chipper. Or at least less pent-up than usual.

"You know, we have five minutes…"

"You know, I don't give a shit." Amy shrugs, sniffles with a crinkle of her nose, draws her brows together, "What's _that_?"

There's a little dark book buried beneath some magazines and folders on his coffee tables, and she reaches forward to grab it before he can stop her.

 _Oh._

Amy grins, "How many people have you fucked?"

"Does it matter?"

"Just wanna know so I can tell the kid what slut level its father has reached."

"Well, you found the log."

Jesus _fucking_ Christ. "Log? You're such a pig." She looks up at him again, palm flat across the cover of the notebook. He's closer, nearer than he had been a moment ago. His shirt's been swapped out for a t-shirt, and his jeans have lost their belt.

"It's not even the right colour, you moron."

The little navy coloured book resting in her lap flies open then, Amy's fingers wrapped over the cover.

"Am I in it?"

"See for yourself."

"This is some next level Dangerous Liaisons kind of shit, Dan. Seriously, you need therapy."

She flicks through the book quickly, not really paying much mind to anything written on the pages. There are names - so many names - and what looks to be beginning and end dates below each name.

How gross.

"Didn't wanna go back for seconds." Ah, the dates.

What she doesn't understand is the colour code.

The majority of the women's names are written in black ink, but she notices how there are a few - so few really - written in red.

"I take it the poor women who got the red ink treatment were your intended murder victims? You know, until they realised you were human garbage?"

Dan rolls his eyes, snatches the book from her hands before she can check it out any more. He tosses it down on the sofa, lets it slip beneath a cushion.

"Actually, no. Those were the ones I considered longterm candidates."

 _Longterm_?

She finds _that_ extremely hard to believe. And just overall fucking ridiculous.

In what world would Dan Egan ever have considered settling down and actually getting serious with a woman? It's a laughable thought, really.

The buzzer goes off then, and Dan is hurrying to the door to let the delivery guy in. An opportunity Amy does not miss, picking the little navy blue book back up, scanning through the pages until she reaches pages dating years back.

There's someone called Amanda at the top of the page, and she apparently only lasted a few days. Below her is Amy, and the two week mark. The two weeks she'd spent with Dan Egan, thinking he could be anything other than a fucking walking trash can.

Only the other girl got the black ink treatment, and Amy's name is written in red.

 _Shit_.

She'd be almost flattered if it weren't for the score he'd given her. Eight out of ten.

"I take it you found your page?"

"Why am I an eight?"

"It's not that you're an eight. You're a solid nine and half now, a definite ten back then."

"Did you actually… rank my sex skills?"

"Possibly." He's placing cartons of Chinese food on the coffee table, brushing documents and a pocket-size thesaurus to the side. "You could've done worse, Ames."

"Oh." Her throat has gone dry (that _fucker!_ ), and she almost feels sick at the thought of him actually taking the time to score her. "Well, I'm glad my fucking you are above average, I guess."

"Technically, you were a six, but then you did that thing-"

"I know what thing I did- I do."

He's smirking, and she's half tempted to pour that cartoon of wonton soup over his head, down his _precious_ clothes.

"Did you…" She begins to flick through the pages again until he pulls it from her hands, and holds it behind his back. _Fine, asshole._ "Did you update it?"

 _A few months ago. When you knocked me up._

"Eat, and then I'll let you read the whole thing."

"I'm not a turkey, Dan. I don't need stuffing." As soon as she words fly from her mouth, she realises her mistake, "Don't."

He only chuckles, moves past her, shins to her knees, to sit down on the couch beside her. She tightens her frame, haunches shoulders as he stuffs the book down the side of the cushion. _Fuck_.

There's a cartoon in her lap then, and she wonders how he knew just what she wanted.

Maybe she doesn't have to wonder, though. Maybe she should realise that, by now, he just knows her.

They eat in silence, save for the news playing on the television that they only half pay attention to because it's mostly about the latest economic fuckup and (honestly) it's nothing of real interest (pun intended), and the sound of Dan slurping the remnants of whatever the fuck he ordered.

Thirty minutes later, she curled into herself, legs pulled up, eyes drawn to the clock on his wall.

And then she realises that they never actually got around to having sex.

"You tired?" Dan is at the opposite end of the sofa, only he's reaching forward for the remote, clicking buttons until the television turns off. Then he's standing, offering her his hand, and she's never been so confused.

"Weren't you expecting something?"

"Much to my own surprise, I'm really worn out, so…" He shrugs, frowns, "Why, did _you_ wanna?"

"Yes, Dan, I want you to false asleep while we're mid-fuck." Amy quips, rolls her eyes

"Well, I can drink some coffee or something if you really want-"

"Nope. No, I'm fine."

She really isn't. She really wants to be, but alas, her hormones aren't very sympathetic.

"Amy," he pauses, retrieves her hand from her lap and tugs, pulls her upward when she refuses to cooperate, other hand wrapping around her elbow, cradling, fingertips brushing along the short sleeve of his t-shirt.

"Take your shirt off."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"Right here?"

"Yeah." Dan replies quickly, nods once, twice, " _right_ here."

He's not a fucking beast, but he's a goddamn animal when he wants to be. And she recognises that this is mostly her own fault because her face was basically just screaming _horny woman!_ and (unfortunately? fortunately?) he's not entirely ignorant to her needs.

"What if I say no?" Amy bounces up on her heels, tries to keep her focus on the collar of his t-shirt. It's clean, neat, and yet she's being pulled in by the scruff along his jaw.

 _Goddamn_ _it_. Her hormones aren't supposed to be betraying her already, aren't supposed to be making her crave someone, something to scratch an irritable itch.

"Then you can fuck yourself on my couch."

God, he's _easy_. Amy grins, chews at the insides of her cheeks, eyes downcast to his crotch. Sucker.

"As if you'd have any complaints."

"Not gonna lie, I definitely have more energy to watch you get yourself off than to do it myself." He tells her pointedly, much to her disappointment because she could really do with _something_ \- "But I'll do it."

"So it's a pity fuck?"

Dan pulls a face, as though she's speaking a foreign language he doesn't understand, "It's an 'it's my fault you want my dick' fuck."

"Charming." Her brows raise and lower, and Amy folds her arms over her chest when he lets go of her elbow, "So you don't want me to blow you?"

She kind of wants the whole package, kind of wants to seal the deal.

Warts and all. The whole shebang. The whole nine yards.

Because she kind of wants to, kind of _really_ wants to.

Dan's face nears her own, alcohol-fuelled breath beside her ear but she can smell it, smell _him_ , dancing along the skin of her neck, "No. We fuck, and you get to scratch that itch you like to pretend doesn't exist. Or, well, _I_ get to scratch it."

 _How did he know-?_

"And I know just how badly you need it scratching."

She hasn't noticed that he's been walking her backwards towards his bedroom - or rather, she's been pretending not to notice. "You think you know. God forbid someone doesn't want to have sex with you."

"God forbid." Dan echoes, takes a step back, much to her surprise, "I'm offering you a free dicking here, Ames."

"Wow, I'm so hot for you right now." She deadpans, "Can I not trade you for a free car or something?"

"No," Dan only smirks, tongue in his cheek, and he's staring at something over her shoulder, "You can ride me though."

That _fucker_.

 _Walked right into that one._

"You've got exactly five seconds to decide." He's heading for the kitchen, for the coffee pot to switch it on, and Amy lets out a lengthy sigh that sounds more like a drawn out moan.

"Fine."

She's following after him then, watching as he pours half-boiled black coffee into a mug.

He stirs it with a clean spoon from off of the drainer, tosses the teaspoon in the sink and downs the drink swiftly, eyes closed.

Dan downs it like a shot, like an espresso, then he's placing the mug down on the side, tilting his head from side to side until his neck cracks, his muscles worn. "Okay." He bounces up on his dick (once), smacks his hands together (twice), and then his eyes fly wide open.

"What the fuck was in that coffee, crack?"

"It was probably eighty percent granules, twenty percent water, to be honest." He shrugs, moves back over to her side with such an ease. "Shirt, off." He points to her ( _his_ ) t-shirt and then flings his hand over his shoulder, thumb extended. "Now."

"You could help."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're not that far along." Dan groans, not missing a beat before his hands are at the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up to expose her breasts. "Shit. I forgot they were gonna grow."

"I'm not _that_ far along." Amy glares up at him, skimming her hands over his own to drag the t-shirt over her head, the action loosening her long ponytail. "And you won't be touching this body when I start showing… Unless you want your hands chopping off."

"Another threat to add to the ever-expanding list." Dan pulls at the zipper of her jeans then, pops open the button. "I love it when you talk dirty."

His jeans slip down his legs then, and he's reaching for her shorts before she can even look down, fingers hooking over the waistband. He smoothes them around to her ass, barely even touches her flesh before the shorts are skimming down her legs, and he waits for her to kick them off before proceeding.

It was easier where she'd been wearing that polka-dot dress with the buttons. So much easier.

"I'm not gonna dirty-talk _you_."

"Shit, is that what you did with the human beanstalk?" He'd find it amusing if it wasn't for the look of sheer frustration on her face right now. Well, it's still quite amusing. "Geez, relax. I don't need you to coax me into it."

When he's slipped his shirt - the one _he_ 'd been wearing - over his head, Amy doesn't waste a minute before she's placing a hand on his chest and pushing him backwards.

"I knew you were horny, but at least give my dick a second to wake up." She scratches him - whether it's intentional or not, he has no way of knowing because her face gives nothing away.

"Your dick is always awake; that's your problem." Amy says, blowing a fallen strand of blonde hair from her face just as his backside hits the edge of the sink. She stands in front of him then, looking down at his crotch as though his cock is just going to twitch and come alive.

"You gotta give me something here, Ames."

"I'm not blowing you."

"Wasn't suggesting that." He smirks anyway, and then curls a hand around her waist before she can stop him, before she can question him. His palm runs from the curve of her waist to her hip, and he squeezes, urges, and she knows what be wants.

Amy scowls, goes to swat his hands away, except he's stronger and she doesn't even really try in the first place, "No." She'd be lying if she said she didn't want to. She really wants to, she really needs _something_.

"Just do it." Dan orders her, shoving her back this time, only lifting his hand from her hip when she hits the countertop. "It'll only take a second. I only need a peek."

"Oh, for fuck-" she cuts herself off with a shake of the head, ennui clear as day on her face.

Reaching behind her, Amy bends her arms and places her palms flat against the top of the sturdy unit, but her biceps do nothing to help her, so she has to wait for Dan to lift her up - he does it so easily, that motherfucker! - and drop her backside down on the counter, as though she's weightless, only one small person.

He's still touching her though, and she'd push him away if it wasn't for the fact that she wanted him to just keep _touching_ her.

"I thought you said you didn't need coaxing into this." Amy states smugly, brows raised when Dan slips his briefs down his legs to his knees.

"I don't need talking into fucking you, I meant." He corrects her, squints like a cocky bastard. "What I do need is for you to cooperate. You're not exactly making this fun, Amy."

"Like that matters." She sighs, "You'd fuck anything that moved." Amy mumbles, drops her hands down onto his shoulders when he nears her, digs her nails into the top of his back when he grabs her buttocks and pulls her over the edge of the counter.

"You're not anything."

"Is that supposed to make me wet?"

"No," he smiles like the fucking Cheshire cat, and he winks, and she's so fucking tempted to kick him in the skull when he starts pulling her panties down, tossing them aside as they slip from her ankles. "Looks like you did that all by yourself."

Amy glares over at him from bent elbows, her arms already weakening, "It's the hormones."

"Sure it is."

That _prick_. Fuck him.

 _Gladly_.

"Is your dick hard yet or are you just gonna keep salivating like a perv?"

Dan moves his right hand to her side, damn near crushes her ribs. His eyes are cast down though, and he's grinning, "Seems to me like you're enjoying this more than I am."

His left hand rests on her thigh then, fingertips dancing along the inside, "Yeah, I'm really loving being spread open on your kitchen counter like a fucking hooker you're about to slice in two. Hurry the fuck up."

"There's that dirty talk."

He grabs his dick, perches over her with a pause, runs the tip along her folds slowly, excruciatingly, his left thumb circling her clit, taunting her sensitive skin.

"Jesus, fuck."

"What?"

Amy lifts her butt cheeks, feels her body clench tighter on itself when he drags her closer, lets his cock slip past her entrance, rougher than she'd like, gentler than she'd expected.

"Fuckin' hell, you're wetter than a pornstar after a gangbang."

"Shut up." Amy lets her arms slip, and she rests her head back against the 'top, eyes closing as her body moves in sync with his own.

Her breasts bounce, time up perfectly with his every thrust, and there's a heaviness in her chest she isn't sure she likes. There's one hand on her thigh, and one on her hip, and she's her face is flushed crimson by now.

He goes faster, gets rougher with every other move, and she can't help herself but reach out for him, grabbing his neck, tense, and tracing the top of his spine with the pads of her fingertips.

Dan is sharp, Dan is lean, Dan is guarded, and Amy knows she is the only one who can leave a mark, scar, ruin his perfectly crafted character, persona.

She could destroy him if she _really_ wanted to.

He's messing with her, playing with her, and _touching_ her and she doesn't like it. She kind of loves it, and almost definitely hates herself for it.

She'd utter his name, say something ( _anything_ ) if it weren't for the hand on her throat, smoothed over her body from her hip to her breast to her neck. He doesn't grab her, just lets his palm hover around the base of her throat.

She can feel him though, feel his warmth every time he thrusts forward and she shifts backward. She can feel him when his dick buries itself inside her and she tightens around him as though he's her lifeline, as though he's her saviour.

He's nothing of the sort though, and she knows it. But that just makes everything worse.

"Close?" He's pulled her up by the neck, hand circled around her to thread his fingers through her hair, through loose strands of hair, "Amy?"

He's breathless, and she's not sure she's ever heard him so _quiet_. Any quieter and he'd be whispering.

And if he did that, whispered something soft in her ear as she came around him, surrendered another piece of herself to him, handed herself over willingly to his touch, she may never come back from the brink of destruction.

He could destroy her, and she knows it.

"Harder… _please_." Because she's close ( _oh_ , so close), and grasping, tugging at his tussled hair is only pushing her over the edge, and his hands on her face are only encouraging her, egging her on.

He pushes harder into her, drops his face down to her collarbone, lips lingering over but not kissing her skin, "Like _this_?" He grunts.

She sobs a reply that Dan barely catches, her voice hitched, and she can feel his lashes against the hot skin of her neck, feel the roughness of his jaw scratch at her chest. His hands cradle her face, her cheekbones, and it's only his hips that meet her own, only his hips that work her body.

Her legs wrap around his backside, heels digging in, ankles near crossing, and she can't help but moan aloud when he pushes, pounds, pulls her with him over the finish line.

The muscles of her neck tense, and she copies him then, lowering her head to his neck, tilts her face to rub against his flesh when he tugs and twists her hair, forcing her into him. It's softer than she'd like but rougher than she'd expected, and she likes it, loves it.

He's warm but cool, chilly where sweat drips down the side of his neck, and she notices the glistening of her own chest as her darkened eyes cast down, watching him slip in and out of her body a few times more.

"Jesus."

Amy nods once, twice, leans into him when he presses cold lips to her ear no matter how much she tries not to.

Her body takes over, and she runs a hand over his shoulder to his arm when he finishes, grunts something unclear into her neck. It tickles - the noise, the scruff - and she holds her breath as he pulls his face away from her body.

"I could get used to that."

 _That_ wasn't what she was expecting him to say.

"Yeah." Amy voices, almost mute, licking her lips after a second. "Maybe."

Maybe his plan wasn't so bad, after all. Maybe they could make this work, somehow. Maybe it _could_ work.

"Amy?" He's looking at her, with furrowed brows, with that smile she despises. But he's not pulling away, and he's not pulling out, and she has to catch her breath before she meet his eye.

Because he looks spent, and charming, and almost like a lost puppy, but she knows better.

She knows who he is, knows he's gonna say something witty any minute now and ruin this.

"I have an appointment tomorrow."

Dan stills, and his right hand slips out of her hair, lowers to rest on the counter beside her naked thigh, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"You don't have to."

"Yeah, I do." She thinks he wants to _smile_ , wants to try and convey some kind of look of sincerity - because he looks pained and his lips are drawn thin, curving upward. "I said I was in."

The left corner of her mouth curls up at that, and Amy smirks, shifts her gaze from his eyes to his crotch, " _That_ , you are."

And then she laughs - _giggles_ , even - and Dan can't help an amused grin from brightening his face, brown eyes clear.

He kisses her then, lips to her jawline, eyes on her mouth, "Move in with me."

"Are you asking or ordering?"

"Which do you prefer?"

"Asking."

"I'm not asking." She feels his fingers on the low of her back, tapping and dancing along the tops of her buttocks, "You're gonna move in with me, or you're gonna marry me. Make your mind up, Brookheimer."

"Can we just fuck on the semi-regular?"

"We could fuck a whole lot more if we lived in the same fuckin' apartment."

He reasons, skims his hand over the top of her thigh to her lap, pushes her legs apart with the ball of his hand, slips his dick from between her legs and replaces it with his fingers, "And I could do this a whole lot more if you let me."

"You can't screw anyone else." She informs her, bends forward when he leans back, folds into him when he moves away, taunting her. "You can't even flirt with anyone else."

"You're asking for a lot there, Ames."

"You either do this properly," she pauses to hiccup, gasp when he slips a finger, two, past her folds, applies pressures to her centre, "or you don't do it at all."

"I'm in."

"Is that a yes?"

"I'll find us an apartment in the morning, _honey_."

He lowers himself then, moves from her chest to her lap, nudging her legs apart with his elbows, the roughness of his light beard scraping her inner thighs.

She'd smack him if he wasn't so close, if she wasn't so _close_ , "Thank you, _baby_." She knows he groans because the vibrations hit against her skin and his breath warms her soft flesh with a sting. "Dan."

"Amy," He trails off on the 'm', looks up at her from between her legs, face just as devilishly handsome as ever, just as charmingly demonic as always.

 _Fuck him._


End file.
